Something Inside
by starlit skyes
Summary: “I follow you because I love annoying you,” Ginny answered. Her eyes turned very intense. “And because...I think there might be something in your cold, frozen little heart, Malfoy, that might be worth following.”
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: This is just something I wrote in a half-hour, when I was bored, and felt like some fun. Don't take it too seriously! ;P Hope you like it.

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It was getting dark in the Quidditch grounds, and the stars twinkled softly against the deep blue sky.

Draco Malfoy walked through, broomstick and robes in hand, intending to have a nice, calming fly on his own in the cool evening breeze—when he suddenly encountered a small, vivid redhead, running up to him, a cheeky grin on her face.

Draco stopped walking automatically, staring at the girl who was approaching him, horror on his pale face. _Again?_ Ginny Weasley had been following him _everywhere_ for the past few weeks, her bright mood and grin in place. He found her mood dampening, sometimes, because she was always more cheerful than he was. He could never understand it.

She didn't try and flirt with him, was not even overly polite to him, like the rest of his female fan club. She baffled him—and annoyed him, endlessly.

"Weasley, _why_ are you here?" demanded Draco, thoroughly irritated, when she danced to a stop right in front of him.

"Well, why are _you,_ Malfoy?" she returned, smiling. "And I'm very happy to see you, too. Don't you ever doubt that, okay?"

"I...have my reasons for being wherever I am," he said coldly, deciding to stop this before it became a conversation and balancing his broom over his right shoulder as he started to move on to the changing rooms. "Now get lost."

"If I do, Malfoy, do you _promise_ to _find_ me?" chirped Ginny, eye gleaming merrily in a way Draco found rather insane—it was mad for people to look so bloody cheerful, he thought resentfully.

Draco's lips twitched, and he narrowed his silvery gray eyes. "I do, Weasley. At least by my next lifetime." He took a step forward, until he was a foot away from the lithe form of Ginny. "Now will you move that arse before I go crazy?"

"Nuh-_uh_. A lifetime is too long."

"Weasley, _move!"_ Draco said loudly, trying to side-step her. She danced into his way again. "Get out of my way!"

"Shan't!" Ginny sang, swinging her scarlet hair onto her shoulder. "Be nice, and I might consider it."

"All right," he said through gritted teeth, scowling. He took a deep breath. "Weasley, _please_, will you go away?" He had used the 'P' word, and he thought he'd repent it for the rest of his life. And all for a Weasley. How stupid. "Please?"

Ginny pouted. "Not nice enough. And 'be nice' doesn't mean you've got to tell me to 'go away'!"

"To me, Weasley, it does." He shook his head disparagingly at Ginny's perpetually chipper expression, and began to walk past her again.

He felt a small, clenched fist clutch at his robe, and he stopped in his steps in utter disbelief. "Oh no, you don't, Malfoy."

He whipped around to face her, features displaying a rather amusing mixture of horror and surprise. "Please tell me you did not just grab my robe, Weasley!"

"Believe it or not," Ginny laughed, holding up her hand. "Anyway, you can't just walk away like that. Not from me, ferret-boy!"

Draco clenched his jaw, fighting the impulse to shout at her, and settled on narrowing his gray eyes dangerously at her. "Weasley," he said in that practiced, menacingly quiet voice he'd mastered, "_what_ is your goddamned problem, anyway? Stop following me, for Merlin's sake."

Ginny laughed merrily. "Oh, I have many problems, Malfoy. Come, we'll have a little picnic, and I'll vent to you and tell you all about them."

Draco stared at her in exasperation, before rolling his eyes and striding away. There simply was no hope for a bint like that. Ginny ran behind him easily, and Draco momentarily wondered how her little legs could match his longer stride so quickly. She appeared at his side again, walking with him.

"Right. We won't talk about my problems. How about yours?"

Draco stopped in surprise. "What do you mean, _yours_?"

"Your problems, Malfoy."

"And why on _earth_ would I tell you about my problems?" he demanded hotly, glaring down into her bright brown eyes. He suddenly realized that he'd sounded rather petulant, and added haughtily, "_Not_ that I have any problems that cause me much concern."

Ginny laughed, throwing back her head, and Draco noticed that her eyes, the color of melting chocolate, grew _starry_ in mirth.

How pathetic of him. He was sure it was the night air, messing with his head, though now he wasn't quite sure how night air could mess with one's head...

"Yeah, _right_, you don't have any problems," scoffed Ginny. "I've never seen a more acute form of denial."

"Weasley, whether I have problems or not is none of your bloody concern," he said rudely.

"Maybe not, but I can _make_ it my concern. But admit it, Malfoy. You have problems."

Draco looked away from her teasing gaze, folding his arms over his chest. "Everyone has problems, Weasley," he said in annoyance. "At least I don't have a mental problem, like you seem to have."

"Oh, Malfoy, I always knew I was crazy," said Ginny unabashedly. "It's part of my personality. It's what makes me so _appealing._" Her eyes, starry and melting cocoa, looked up at him amusedly from beneath her long lashes.

Draco stared at her, unable to deny that that was true.

But then curiosity got the better of him. "You have problems?" he asked casually.

"Sure," she answered coolly, a sudden distance in her eyes. "Some more bothersome than the rest."

She _would_ have problems. He knew... "You mean—like, the whole thing with Riddle's diary?" he asked hesitantly.

She flinched, but recovered immediately. "Yeah, things like that, too," replied Ginny lightly.

He felt slightly awed. "No one would imagine...you act like you own the world, Weasley." He smirked, in spite of himself, to show that he appreciated her, to some extent—her strength, it was undeniable.

She laughed. "As far as I'm concerned, Malfoy, I do own the world."

"What do you mean?" asked Draco curiously.

"See..." she explained, her eyes thoughtful now, "You can have tons of problems...but you can always make up your mind, that you'd face them, no matter what, and be _happy_—no matter what." She smiled. "That's all it takes, really. To make up your mind that whatever happens, you'll be happy."

He stared at her for a few moments, trying to understand that.

And then he realized that he was standing here, talking to this crazy girl, _again_. "Weasley," he said tersely, running an exasperated hand through his hair, "your ideas are very inspirational and philosophical—_thank you_. Now just leave me alone, all right?"

"Admit it, Malfoy, you enjoy being with me."

"I will admit no such insane thing."

"Then how come you haven't told me to piss off, or avoided me, or put a Silencing Charm on me, or _even flown away_ now?" her chocolate eyes sparkled knowingly, but there was something serious in her tone. "That's what you do to nearly everyone else, you know."

Draco flushed lightly, and his eyes were defensive. "Just because I try to be polite does not mean I enjoy being with you, Weasley. Actually, you rather irritate me."

A whiff of soft breeze lifted one of the stray strands of silver hair framing his face. He saw Ginny's eyes follow it wonderingly.

He smirked, in spite of himself, mischievously. "Can't take your eyes off me, can you, Weasley?" he said smugly.

She immediately rolled her eyes, and stared deliberately at the sky before she looked back at him. "I can _so_ take my eyes off you!" she laughed. "Don't flatter yourself, Malfoy. I'm not one of your crazed fans."

"You're...you're just absurd," he stated finally, realizing he was talking to her _again._ "Now I _really_ don't want to continue this conversation, so do me a huge favor, and let me be on my way."

"Malfoy!" she complained as he walked again—she followed him, of course. "Now, there is something called _persistence_ in the noble house of Gryffindor, so I'm not letting you go like that."

He turned on her. "If you're _not_ one of my 'crazed fans', then _why_ do you follow me around?"

"Because I love annoying you," she answered immediately. But suddenly, her eyes turned very intense. "And because...I think there might be something _in_ you, Malfoy, that's worth following."

"'In me'?" Draco repeated in surprise. "Oh, there are _many_ wonderful things _in_ me, Weasley, but you are not one of the lucky few that gets to see."

"That's not what I mean, you jerk," she snapped. He felt a twinge of surprise at her tone. She was serious.

"I mean...I feel that there might be something in that cold, frozen little heart of yours that isn't arrogant, and egoistic, and unbearable, and...cruel."

His stormy gray eyes beheld her in a mixture of shock and anger. "D'you know what you're saying?" he hissed at her. "Because if you don't, then just shut your mouth, you little fool."

But her words rang in his mind...

He looked at her—she was a tiny thing, lithe and slender, with a long mane of fiery hair framing her thin oval face. Her large, dark brown eyes seemed very large, very intense in that small face.

"I don't know," she admitted. "But...after all I've seen in you, that's what I think."

He was frozen, but he forced an eyebrow to raise incredulously; he hated to admit it, but he wanted her to continue.

"You push everyone away—_y_ou don't let anyone come close. You're surrounded by people—_friends_—but you always like to be alone...I don't know why," she said, her voice soft.

"It's like you've got this thick, cold wall of ice around you, and you don't let anyone in. But I think, inside that wall, there's something decent—but something you feel you've got to hide.

"Sometimes, I feel...like you don't like what's happening around you, you think it's wrong—and you want to pull away, but you feel that you've got to pull away from everything else, too." Her voice was a whisper now. "And so...you're mostly alone, but you never get..._lonely._"

Malfoy felt cold all over, except for a bit of warmth in his chest, that he couldn't understand. He swallowed. "Weasley, just—just get lost, all right? That's the absolute nicest thing you can do for me right now, and I'd really appreciate it if you'd oblige."

"No, it isn't," she shook her head, taking a step toward him. "That isn't the nicest thing, not at all." She looked up at him, and her eyes were sparkling as she gazed into his own, dazed gray eyes.

She threw her arms around his neck, and pulled his face closer, until his lips, parted with surprise, were only an inch from hers.

"This is, Draco," she murmured against his lips, and then she kissed him—a soft, chaste kiss that lingered when she pulled away the tiniest bit, a few moments later.

Draco stared at her in shock for a moment, something pounding inside him, a warm, beautiful tattoo against his heart. She looked beautiful, and he could see her, see her lovely chocolate eyes, her soft, pink lips.

As the moments passed, he smiled, smiled in spite of himself. "Maybe I should be nice, too," he whispered. "Maybe I should be nice, Ginny, and kiss you back."

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Please, tell me what you think!

~starlit skyes


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **I'll admit, I never thought I'd update this one - I thought it was going to be a one-shot. And then this appeared in my head, and I couldn't resist.

**I should add that this was never intended to be a chaptered fic, so this second chapter isn't directly related to the first one. I think I'm just outlining their relationship here, from how it began, how it survives the war, etc. Not an actual chaptered story per se. **

It's inspired by a certain prompt on **The DG Forum**, which said to write a Draco/Ginny drabble with the line "I don't share, Weasley." I've already written a drabble for that, which is Chapter 5 in my **Rhapsodies** series, and clearly, this one is too long for a drabble, so it's part of **Something Inside**. And I think that makes sense, considering. ^_^

Getting inspired for this/writing it/uploading – the whole process took only about an hour and a half, and I was too eager to post to check for errors. So please forgive any minor SPaG problems!

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Draco runs out into the night impatiently, and quickly spots the coppery glint of a certain Gryffindor's hair. He makes his way toward her in long, graceful strides.

"What happened?" he demands of the girl urgently, looking into her starry brown eyes. "Is something wrong?"

She laughs freely, and something within him unclenches, relaxes, as he listens to the sound of her beautiful laughter.

"No, silly," she says, walking ahead and looking back at him playfully. "I just wanted to see you."

He frowns disapprovingly, though he has to admit that his chest swells with the warmth that envelops him. Still, it is wrong—she shouldn't be out this late at night. Not to merely see _him. _

"And you send me a charmed owl in the middle of bloody Transfiguration to 'see me'?" he questions dryly. "I must be quite a sight to behold."

He catches up to her, taking her hand and making her halt in her mindless strolling. He regards her unusually flushed face levelly.

"You're not bad-looking," she says lightly.

"Ginny." He puts his hands on her slender shoulders, and stares into her eyes intently. "Something's up. Tell me."

She sighs. "Nothing! Nothing's wrong. I just..." she takes a deep breath. "I just...I'm sick, Draco. Sick of all the secrecy, the sneaking around, the lies—as though we're doing something wrong here." She looks up at him passionately, a sudden light behind her chocolate brown eyes. "I'm sick of lying about something so beautiful, and I just felt frustrated. I knew seeing you would make me feel better, so..." She drops her eyes, a soft blush coating her pale cheeks.

And then, Draco realizes, that he should probably tell her, anyway. His seventeenth birthday draws near, with all its ominous, life-ending implications. It is only fair that he tells her, gives her the choice. The thought brings a familiar lump to his throat, but he speaks anyway, his voice tight and strained.

"Ginevra," he says softly. He sighs, his gray eyes willing hers to look into his. "The lies. They'll always be there. Because...because what we're doing —" he gestures helplessly to himself and her, as a single entity, as one "—it _is_ wrong."

Her eyes widen in surprise, and then a certain determination seems to come over her. She looks up at him bravely, and smirks. He sees the strength in her, and it moves him, moves him enough to put on a façade of lightness over his pained face.

"Why?" she challenges. "Not very virtuous, then? Not the good knight in shining armor?"

"No, I'm afraid not," he answers with a bitter smile.

She looks up at him suddenly, with a defiant, strange sort of determination playing across her features. Her eyes melt at him, like a swirl of chocolate. "Well, then," she says lightly, "I'm sure I can find _tons_ of reasons to say away from you." She tosses her hair at him, and turns her back on him dramatically, smirking. He raises an elegant eyebrow at her, before taking her by the shoulders and turning her to him again.

"What?" he says.

"Well, you're evil, right?" she retorts. "And you're dangerous. You could just be playing with me, using me, _fucking_ with my feelings—" he flinches delicately at this, but she ignores him, continuing ruthlessly "—and you could even get me killed."

"You're right," he says in a calm voice, though pain rips through him at the truth in her words. Merlin knew, he was never to be trusted. Even if she knew he loved her with every pore of his being, it was even good for her to doubt him. Especially because he _could_ get her killed, and it was much safer for her to be not connected to him in any way.

"You're right," he repeats flatly. "I am dangerous."

"_Sure,_" she continues dramatically, a wicked light in her eyes, "there's _something inside_ you, you prick, that makes me love you more than anything in the whole world—" here, again, he smiles sadly, because her words strike him so deeply with warmth "—but otherwise, you're just pure trouble packaged in a hot body."

He smirks dryly, but gives no other answer.

"But when are you going to understand," she says, looking up at him intently, suddenly serious, "that I don't care? That I don't care even if I die, if it's for you?"

He swallows. "Do you realize how disgustingly corny you sound?" he says lightly.

"I do. But I don't care." Her eyes are hard. "I don't care what you say, Draco, but this—this _love_ we have—it's too...beautiful, it's too precious for me to let go like that. And I know, I _know_ you feel the same way, much as you try to say otherwise."

He casts away his humor for a moment, and says earnestly, "I know, Ginny. But that's my point. I love you. I can't—I can't stand—" he runs a frustrated hand through his hair as he speaks agitatedly "—I can't stand for you to risk yourself for me."

She sighs, and begins to walk away from him, but he follows her easily. They walk side to side for a few silent moments, both staring at the movement of their feet, pondering. The night is cool, quiet, providing no intrusion to their thoughts.

"Enough of this," she says finally. She looks up at him, and she's grinning—he realizes that she's put away the fear, the uncertainty, for now. He sees the humor, the love, dancing in her eyes, and he can't help but smirk back.

"I don't think you're making good use of my hot packaging," he says mischievously. "You can look but you can also touch, you know. I'm rather in the mood for a good snog."

She rolls her eyes, and then says, "You know, I think I get it now. Maybe I _should_ stay away from you."

He frowns. "What now?" He hates to admit there's a certain fear in him, despite her joking tone and loving eyes—he's afraid, he's afraid she'll leave him, and he's also afraid that she won't.

"You're an arrogant git," she states brightly. "And arrogant gits aren't usually very nice people."

Her words make him laugh, and he sees the approval in her eyes at his good humor. "Okay," he encourages. "Keep it coming. What other fault can you find with me?"

"You've got an ego the size of a troll," she says matter-of-factly.

He pretends to look concernedly down at himself. "I think it's much bigger, actually."

"You're rude and cold and can be extremely hurtful."

"I'd call it _expressing my opinion_."

"You enjoy playing around with other girls and having them drool over you just to prove that you can."

"You know, I think some boys drool over me, too. It's rather nauseating."

"You're a right snob and you show off all the time."

"This shirt is tailored, Weasley." He flicks off imaginary lint from his coat, smirking wickedly. "Unlike that scrap you're wearing which suggests you're poor as dirt."

She snorts in spite of herself, and continues with her tirade. They've reached the edge of the woods now, and they circle it, strolling slowly toward Hagrid's pumpkin patch. "You're a really sore loser."

"Hey, baby, I'd have to actually _be_ a loser to fulfill that one." He's grinning widely now, gray eyes playful as they're fixed steadily on her pale, lovely face.

"You have no heroism whatsoever."

"Look, I'm no Harry bleeding Potter of a tosspot. In a life-or-death situation, I'd just save yours and my neck and leave the others to fate."

"Which is my point exactly. And you use too much hair gel."

"_What?"_ For the first time, Draco looks horrified. "I do _not_! I hardly use gel at all! My hair just stays that way and it's no fault of mine."

She halts, and turns around to face him directly. She fingers his collar playfully, drawing closer to him. "Let me see," she murmurs. She reaches up, to run a hand softly through his silver-blond hair, and Draco closes his eyes at her touch.

"Okay," she admits grudgingly, "it's not greasy."

"I know," he replies smugly, putting his arms slowly around her svelte waist and looking down into her eyes intensely. Her sweet breath mingles with his in the still night.

"You're a very, very bad person," she breathes against his chest.

"Thanks," he whispers, smirking.

"I should just go with Harry—my noble hero." She giggles.

He freezes, and suddenly takes her by the shoulders sharply. She gasps a little at his rough touch, and he glares down into her eyes, his own fiercely stormy gray.

"Listen to my biggest sin," he murmurs dangerously, his lips grazing hers as he speaks. He's looking into her eyes stormily, and their faces are so close he can see the little freckles on her nose. He can hear that she's holding her breath as she gazes into his eyes, suddenly uncertain.

With one hand, he gently caresses her skin, from her arm, up her soft, graceful neck, to her cheek. Her breathing is heavy, coming out in short gasps now.

"I don't share, Weasley," he whispers against her lips. "You're mine—all mine—and I don't share what's mine."

And later on that night, he proves exactly how little he shares his most priced belongings—by the end of which Ginny admits helplessly that being shared is the last thing she'd want; and as for all of Draco's heinously bad crimes, including his hot packaging, Ginny finds that she'll hold him as close as possible, anyway. After all, evilness isn't contagious.

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**A/N: **Tell me what you think, please! Was it very bad, very good, somewhere in between? You know the drill: **review! **

~starlit skyes


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **In fact, I'm surprised I'm still alive. I haven't gone without writing so long in my life, and it's been quite torturous. *winces*

This is in no way very amazing. But I've always had a soft spot for "Something Inside", and my intent is to outline Draco's and Ginny's relationship through their life; the beginning, the before and after of the War, and so on. Hope this is okay.

Heavily inspired by the song "Something I Can Never Have" by Nine Inch Nails.

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"The War changes everything," he whispered.

"And you've changed," she replied, "so, so much."

They stood at the volcano's edge, stood on molten red rock, saw each other through the hot haze of red and breathed black, smoky air. The ground shuddered beneath them, and the edge stood over the boiling stream of bloody lava that fell through black rock.

Everything in her world seemed violent crimson or the black of death_—_and then there was the bone-white of his skin, the cold grey of his eyes.

"Yes, I've changed," he agreed, and his voice echoed in her ears over the wild screams of the wind around them.

His eyes grew hard. "I need you out," he said hoarsely. "You're...you're everywhere. Everywhere." For a moment his eyes flashed, hot and desperate. "All I see, Ginny. You're blinding me, deafening me."

She felt choked, strangled.

"It's been an age since I last saw you," she said quietly. "Been an age since we've talked."

"I know," he said in a low, fierce voice. "An age, and more."

For a moment he looked at her with beautiful, aged grey eyes and she stared back at him silently, as the wind wailed and screeched in her ears. The heat was too much, the smoke suffocating, the black floors heaving beneath her feet.

"We don't have much time," she murmured to herself. "We never did."

He took a step towards her, and she noticed how much taller he seemed, somehow, how much farther away even as he moved closer. His skin paled further. "I have changed," he repeated, his voice flat and cold. "I have people under me now, and bear a mark that screams a hundred words. I murder, torture, and laugh through it all. I wear these black robes_—_" he fingered his collar with beautiful, long hands "_—_and I wear them for a reason. But Ginny, despite all that, I...I _live_ you."

She said nothing, felt blood freeze beneath her skin.

"Before you, I feel like I didn't..._live._ And then you...and you became every moment, every single thought...filled me like oxygen. I don't know how to _live_ anymore." His eyes grew wild, glowing at her, and his hands shook at his sides. "I can't see the sparks of my wand through the amber of your eyes. Can't hear the screams of the people I kill over the memory of your voice. Everything I am now, everything that's changed me...you take it away, you make it all go away, and that can't work, that has to stop_—_"

He clenched his teeth together and looked away, breathing heavily, and she noticed vaguely saw how thin he'd become. Then she remembered another time.

A time when he was sixteen. A time when the grass was green, the sky blue, and one could find joy in such things.

_It was dark, the room was empty, and his head was in her lap, her skirt soaked with his tears. _

"_I'm scared," he whispered, with a shuddering breath. "I hate to say it, but I'm so scared. I don't know. I'm terrified, and I want to go, to leave it all behind. I'm so scared." _

_She said nothing, simply stroking his hair._

"_It's like something choking me every day. Like a cage around me, that I can never escape." He raised his head, and his eyes were vulnerable and bloodshot, and the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. "It's...it's just you," he said hoarsely. "You make me...continue. You make everything else okay, and the fear..." He swallowed. "You make it all go away." _

_She looked into his shimmering eyes for a moment, and then leant in to press her lips to his. She kissed him, the sad sweetness of him, until her heart thrummed and she could feel him breathing heavily against her mouth. And then she pulled away, saw the fire in his eyes, the light flush on his cheeks. He looked at her in awe, and gave a wistful little smirk. _

"_It all goes away," she said, grinning, "and I bring the good stuff back." _

"What do you expect me to do, Draco?" she demanded, and her voice cracked. She was finding it hard to breathe through the smoke, and the wind slapped at her face. She smelt burning iron. "What do you expect from me? I've left you. But how am I supposed to make myself..." Her breath hitched. "_Disappear_?"

His face was drawn, and his eyes glowed fiercely. "I don't know," he croaked. "I don't know. All I know is...I can't live like this. Can't live the life I lived with you. That life was...me. What I was with you, is what I truly am. And what I truly am can't survive now. Not now, now that..." His lips twisted. "It has to stop."

She gazed at him, tall, pale and beautiful, his silvery hair whipping around his face in the piercing wind. His eyes, that had burned with intensity a moment ago, were suddenly cold again, distant. She'd never met anyone with eyes like Draco. Eyes that could speak in so many languages, say a hundred thousand words, and then be utterly, completely silent.

"And what about me?" she asked quietly. "About the fact that I don't know how to function anymore? The fact that every blunt edge is razor sharp, and every sharp edge cuts me. And every little cut bleeds..." For the first time, her eyes stung fiercely, and she blinked, turned away, feeling the weight of the smoke on her every pore, the heat pressing down on her eyes like large red fingers. "Without you, I'm just left here...bleeding."

_She was whimpering softly as the blood dripped from her hand. "I hate this." _

_He picked up her hand gently. "Scared of blood?" _

_She shivered violently. "The red...I hate red." A sob escaped her, and she hated herself for it. "The red...makes me think of..." and she shuddered again. "Of _him._" _

_He glanced at her with sharp, worried eyes, before a small smile twisted his lips. "Red is your hair," he told her. He leant in to kiss her softly on her nose, making her smile through her tears. "Red is the way you blush when I kiss you," he said amusedly. And, slowly, he raised her bleeding finger to his lips, and kissed the blood away. "In my head, I call you Red. And red's beautiful." _

The tears fell down her cheeks, evaporating off her skin in the steam and the smoke. He saw her cry, and a strange expression crept into his face. He took a step back.

"I can't live like this," he repeated.

They'd lived like that, when he was sixteen. When the grass could be green, the sky blue, and one could find joy in it.

He was shaking all over, and his eyes darkened to black. "Not like this," he said hoarsely. "I can't hear myself think. I can't _be._"

"Then don't," she whispered.

A single tear fell down her cheek, and his eyes followed it, suddenly filled with fear.

And then, he was gone.

She was standing at the volcano's edge alone, wondering if he was with the screaming wind, or beneath the bloody surface of the hot molten rock. Or whether he was just part of the black air she breathed.

The War kills everything, and he'd killed himself.

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Please, please review. :D


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